Submission for Rose ficathon
Title: Scarlet
Author: Archie
Written for:
darclee
Who wanted:
1. Courageous Rose
2. something supernatural (may be Earthly or otherwise...)
3. hurt/comfort (preferably Rose hurt, Doctor comforting)
And didn’t want:
Over-the-top, unrealistic emotional outbursts
Scarlet
This lost, broken city, Rose thinks, is why he’s still in the TARDIS and not out here with her, standing among the crumbled, charred buildings. It’s a wasteland now, and it’s hard to relate this desolation to the teeming, thriving mess that had been the marketplace, a mere three years ago.
They’d come here as a quick break, for Rose to go shopping and for the Doctor to pick up some spare parts for the TARDIS, but they’d stayed nearly a week because Rose had liked it so much. The people were friendly, the sun was warm, and every night there was dancing in the market square. Rose had joined in, too, on the second night, and on the third had gotten the Doctor drunk enough (it had taken a while) to join her on the packed-earth clearing that was the dance floor. They’d left, rested and recharged, on the seventh night.
She’d mentioned to him what a lovely place it was, and he’d just smiled at her, that slow, sad smile that came over his face when he knew something that she didn’t. Usually Rose avoided asking him anything when he was like that, but she liked this planet, a lot, and wanted desperately to know why that smile had appeared again.
Instead of telling her, he had shown her. Two years in the planet’s future, it would be attacked by a race of parasitic insect-creatures that fed off human life like vampires. They would kill a third of the population to sate their hunger, and take the rest to be stored aboard their vast, organic ships in stasis, waiting to be dried up to an empty husk as some alien creature’s afternoon snack.
The planet had been strafed from orbit to destroy what was left, and the parasites had moved on. What remained was barely enough to support atmosphere, let alone life. A year had not done much to bring the dead back, but the air was breathable.
There is a scent of smoke in the air, from some fire that has never really gone out, and the world is a dull, dead grey around her. Save for the bright blue of the TARDIS, crouching between the remains of two stuccoed buildings, and her own bright pink jacket, there is no colour left here.
Rose looks at her shoes. They are scuffed, and smudged with the ever-present dust that seems to coat everything on this strange dead world. She considers brushing it off - and there’s a flash of bright red out of the corner of her left eye that has her head snapping up and her legs automatically tensing to run -
Except there’s nothing there. Rose thinks she hears the faint laughter of a woman, and dismisses it because there’s no one left here to laugh, not even herself because she can’t so much as smile in this place that reeks of death. She turns back towards the TARDIS, and there’s the flash again, this time skipping over the rubble to her right.
Rose cautiously opens the TARDIS door. The Doctor is nowhere in sight, so she leaves him a note on the console. Giving the old girl a fond pat, she shuts the door behind her and goes to find - well, whatever it is.
Two hours, and yet more frustrating glimpses of scarlet red later, Rose stands in front of a house. It is not large, nor grand; however in this world of dust and destruction it only has a few tiles missing from the roof, and one of the curlicued wrought-iron railings is dented. In the doorway, Rose sees something move. She can no more control her feet now, she thinks irrationally, than the sea can control the sun, and follows the flickering shape into the dark house.
Courage had never been Rose’s strong point, before the Doctor came and took her away. She had preferred to go on living her life the way it was, rather than trying anything new; she supposed it was the fault of her generation. She had learnt what courage was from a maid who gave her life to save the world, from a laughing conman who stole her breath and then disappeared, from a girl who could never acknowledge her own son.
Now, stepping into the shadows of the house without the Doctor beside her, Rose feels brave. Courageous, even. It may be a false courage, she tells herself. What if this thing, whatever it is, isn’t friendly, isn’t kind, and instead is out to harm her.
Around her there is a stirring in the air, as if some unseen wind is exciting the very molecules of the air. There is a glow, a brief flash, and then suddenly the house is full of life. There are people milling about, holding drinks and snacks and laughing like it’s not the end of the world.
There is a woman on the stairs, with long dark hair and - a red dress - who is looking directly at Rose. She beckons with a finger, and Rose finds she has no choice but to follow. The stairs are narrow but made of marble; the banister is wrought iron like the railings outside and cool under her hands.
At the top of the stairs there is a chair, and she is directed to sit. The woman is standing before her, smiling gently, and a dark man dressed in a formal white shirt and deep blue trousers joins her in short order. He wraps an arm around her waist, nuzzling her hair.
The woman steps forward. Rose tenses in her seat.
Please do not be afraid, my dear. There is a voice in her head. All of her travels with the Doctor have educated her to the fact that this is never a good thing.
“Are you talking to me? What do you want?” Rose is afraid now. She speaks clearly and firmly, but there is an undertone of fear to her voice that no-one could miss.
Dear girl, we need your help.
When the Doctor finally finds Rose, huddled in the corner at the top of the stairs, there are tracks of black down her cheeks and a blush of red around her nose. He sits down next to her, wrapping her up in a hug, and buries his face in her hair. They remain that way for a long time, until Rose’s shoulders stop shaking and the sniffles subside.
“What’s wrong, Rose?”
She looks at him incredulously for a moment.
“Can’t you see them, Doctor? They’re all around us, they’re having a party and none of them know that they’re dead!”
He realises that this house is the source of the strange energy emissions that first alerted him to Rose’s absence. He takes out the sonic screwdriver; in the dim half-light of the stairwell its light pulses softly in his hand. This is it, then; this is what is causing the energy readings. Why, though? And what is it that Rose is seeing that he can’t?
“What do you see, Rose?”
And she tells him, about the richly garbed young men and women happily drinking and laughing this night away, how she cannot touch them.
She tells him what the woman in the red dress asked of her.
“She wanted me to touch her. Apparently she has the power to send everyone on to the next life, but she can’t do it without a living soul to help her.” Rose is the only one who can see her - the Doctor obviously can’t, and there is no one in a ten-light-year radius who will come near this system.
It’s a simple matter of using the power that a living being provides to push these souls onwards to their next destination; all Rose would need to do is make contact with the woman in the red dress and all of these people that she is seeing will leave. The Doctor considers this as he holds Rose close, Rose who couldn’t bear to see her old friend killed by a missile or let her ex be miserable in his own world when he could be happy in another.
He can tell what Rose wants - to leave these people here, as they are, caught in a moment of joy so they don’t have to face the grief of a lost life, family or world. He also knows that lost souls left on this plane for too long turn on themselves.
“You should do it, Rose.”
“But they’re so happy! How can I let them go off when they’re happy here?”
“This is not about how happy they look, Rose. Sooner or later they’ll realise that they’re gone, and that they’re not coming back. That the food they’re eating is nothing but air, that their laughs don’t make a sound. Then they’ll go mad, and start destroying themselves.”
“But they’re dead, how can they die again?”
“These peoples’ souls, the ones you see…they’re nothing but an idea, a memory of that person. Their souls are clinging to this life by doing what they did best when they were alive, but this is not where they are meant to be.”
“If they don’t leave…?”
“They’ll fade away. Their bodies are dead, Rose, give their souls a chance to rest.”
Beside him, Rose sits up straighter and her eyes focus at a point in the middle distance. He assumes she is looking at the woman in the red dress.
Have you come to a decision, dear girl?
“I don’t know. I mean, what good is this going to do them?”
They will be free, finally. Rose, you do not have to do this. There will be others whom we may request. However if this process is not carried out soon, these souls will begin to dwindle and fade, and the memory of them will be lost. Will you help us, Rose?
“Yes, I will.”
The woman smiles widely, and gestures for Rose to stand up. She holds out a hand, palm up, and Rose reaches out with her own. Just as they’re about to touch, Rose jerks back.
“I can’t do this.”
“Yes, you can, Rose. You can do this. You can do anything.”
His eyes lock on hers and she is briefly struck breathless at the intensity in them. He takes her hand again, moves it up to his lips, and kisses the back of it.
“You can do this, Rose.”
And she does.
Sorry about the lateness...studying got in the way :(
Author: Archie
Written for:
darclee
Who wanted:
1. Courageous Rose
2. something supernatural (may be Earthly or otherwise...)
3. hurt/comfort (preferably Rose hurt, Doctor comforting)
And didn’t want:
Over-the-top, unrealistic emotional outbursts
Scarlet
This lost, broken city, Rose thinks, is why he’s still in the TARDIS and not out here with her, standing among the crumbled, charred buildings. It’s a wasteland now, and it’s hard to relate this desolation to the teeming, thriving mess that had been the marketplace, a mere three years ago.
They’d come here as a quick break, for Rose to go shopping and for the Doctor to pick up some spare parts for the TARDIS, but they’d stayed nearly a week because Rose had liked it so much. The people were friendly, the sun was warm, and every night there was dancing in the market square. Rose had joined in, too, on the second night, and on the third had gotten the Doctor drunk enough (it had taken a while) to join her on the packed-earth clearing that was the dance floor. They’d left, rested and recharged, on the seventh night.
She’d mentioned to him what a lovely place it was, and he’d just smiled at her, that slow, sad smile that came over his face when he knew something that she didn’t. Usually Rose avoided asking him anything when he was like that, but she liked this planet, a lot, and wanted desperately to know why that smile had appeared again.
Instead of telling her, he had shown her. Two years in the planet’s future, it would be attacked by a race of parasitic insect-creatures that fed off human life like vampires. They would kill a third of the population to sate their hunger, and take the rest to be stored aboard their vast, organic ships in stasis, waiting to be dried up to an empty husk as some alien creature’s afternoon snack.
The planet had been strafed from orbit to destroy what was left, and the parasites had moved on. What remained was barely enough to support atmosphere, let alone life. A year had not done much to bring the dead back, but the air was breathable.
There is a scent of smoke in the air, from some fire that has never really gone out, and the world is a dull, dead grey around her. Save for the bright blue of the TARDIS, crouching between the remains of two stuccoed buildings, and her own bright pink jacket, there is no colour left here.
Rose looks at her shoes. They are scuffed, and smudged with the ever-present dust that seems to coat everything on this strange dead world. She considers brushing it off - and there’s a flash of bright red out of the corner of her left eye that has her head snapping up and her legs automatically tensing to run -
Except there’s nothing there. Rose thinks she hears the faint laughter of a woman, and dismisses it because there’s no one left here to laugh, not even herself because she can’t so much as smile in this place that reeks of death. She turns back towards the TARDIS, and there’s the flash again, this time skipping over the rubble to her right.
Rose cautiously opens the TARDIS door. The Doctor is nowhere in sight, so she leaves him a note on the console. Giving the old girl a fond pat, she shuts the door behind her and goes to find - well, whatever it is.
Two hours, and yet more frustrating glimpses of scarlet red later, Rose stands in front of a house. It is not large, nor grand; however in this world of dust and destruction it only has a few tiles missing from the roof, and one of the curlicued wrought-iron railings is dented. In the doorway, Rose sees something move. She can no more control her feet now, she thinks irrationally, than the sea can control the sun, and follows the flickering shape into the dark house.
Courage had never been Rose’s strong point, before the Doctor came and took her away. She had preferred to go on living her life the way it was, rather than trying anything new; she supposed it was the fault of her generation. She had learnt what courage was from a maid who gave her life to save the world, from a laughing conman who stole her breath and then disappeared, from a girl who could never acknowledge her own son.
Now, stepping into the shadows of the house without the Doctor beside her, Rose feels brave. Courageous, even. It may be a false courage, she tells herself. What if this thing, whatever it is, isn’t friendly, isn’t kind, and instead is out to harm her.
Around her there is a stirring in the air, as if some unseen wind is exciting the very molecules of the air. There is a glow, a brief flash, and then suddenly the house is full of life. There are people milling about, holding drinks and snacks and laughing like it’s not the end of the world.
There is a woman on the stairs, with long dark hair and - a red dress - who is looking directly at Rose. She beckons with a finger, and Rose finds she has no choice but to follow. The stairs are narrow but made of marble; the banister is wrought iron like the railings outside and cool under her hands.
At the top of the stairs there is a chair, and she is directed to sit. The woman is standing before her, smiling gently, and a dark man dressed in a formal white shirt and deep blue trousers joins her in short order. He wraps an arm around her waist, nuzzling her hair.
The woman steps forward. Rose tenses in her seat.
Please do not be afraid, my dear. There is a voice in her head. All of her travels with the Doctor have educated her to the fact that this is never a good thing.
“Are you talking to me? What do you want?” Rose is afraid now. She speaks clearly and firmly, but there is an undertone of fear to her voice that no-one could miss.
Dear girl, we need your help.
When the Doctor finally finds Rose, huddled in the corner at the top of the stairs, there are tracks of black down her cheeks and a blush of red around her nose. He sits down next to her, wrapping her up in a hug, and buries his face in her hair. They remain that way for a long time, until Rose’s shoulders stop shaking and the sniffles subside.
“What’s wrong, Rose?”
She looks at him incredulously for a moment.
“Can’t you see them, Doctor? They’re all around us, they’re having a party and none of them know that they’re dead!”
He realises that this house is the source of the strange energy emissions that first alerted him to Rose’s absence. He takes out the sonic screwdriver; in the dim half-light of the stairwell its light pulses softly in his hand. This is it, then; this is what is causing the energy readings. Why, though? And what is it that Rose is seeing that he can’t?
“What do you see, Rose?”
And she tells him, about the richly garbed young men and women happily drinking and laughing this night away, how she cannot touch them.
She tells him what the woman in the red dress asked of her.
“She wanted me to touch her. Apparently she has the power to send everyone on to the next life, but she can’t do it without a living soul to help her.” Rose is the only one who can see her - the Doctor obviously can’t, and there is no one in a ten-light-year radius who will come near this system.
It’s a simple matter of using the power that a living being provides to push these souls onwards to their next destination; all Rose would need to do is make contact with the woman in the red dress and all of these people that she is seeing will leave. The Doctor considers this as he holds Rose close, Rose who couldn’t bear to see her old friend killed by a missile or let her ex be miserable in his own world when he could be happy in another.
He can tell what Rose wants - to leave these people here, as they are, caught in a moment of joy so they don’t have to face the grief of a lost life, family or world. He also knows that lost souls left on this plane for too long turn on themselves.
“You should do it, Rose.”
“But they’re so happy! How can I let them go off when they’re happy here?”
“This is not about how happy they look, Rose. Sooner or later they’ll realise that they’re gone, and that they’re not coming back. That the food they’re eating is nothing but air, that their laughs don’t make a sound. Then they’ll go mad, and start destroying themselves.”
“But they’re dead, how can they die again?”
“These peoples’ souls, the ones you see…they’re nothing but an idea, a memory of that person. Their souls are clinging to this life by doing what they did best when they were alive, but this is not where they are meant to be.”
“If they don’t leave…?”
“They’ll fade away. Their bodies are dead, Rose, give their souls a chance to rest.”
Beside him, Rose sits up straighter and her eyes focus at a point in the middle distance. He assumes she is looking at the woman in the red dress.
Have you come to a decision, dear girl?
“I don’t know. I mean, what good is this going to do them?”
They will be free, finally. Rose, you do not have to do this. There will be others whom we may request. However if this process is not carried out soon, these souls will begin to dwindle and fade, and the memory of them will be lost. Will you help us, Rose?
“Yes, I will.”
The woman smiles widely, and gestures for Rose to stand up. She holds out a hand, palm up, and Rose reaches out with her own. Just as they’re about to touch, Rose jerks back.
“I can’t do this.”
“Yes, you can, Rose. You can do this. You can do anything.”
His eyes lock on hers and she is briefly struck breathless at the intensity in them. He takes her hand again, moves it up to his lips, and kisses the back of it.
“You can do this, Rose.”
And she does.
Sorry about the lateness...studying got in the way :(